


Let Shedding Dragons Lie

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chris is a shitty shedding dragon, Human!Stiles, M/M, weredragon!Chris, werewolf!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: When Stiles and Chris overeat on vacation, Peter knows what's going to happen during Chris's next shift. So he isn't surprised at all when he has to nanny a cranky molting dragon on the full moon. That doesn't mean he's happy about it.





	Let Shedding Dragons Lie

Peter closed the dryer door with heat still emanating from it. The circular dog bed that wrapped around the bottom of the water heater in the corner was empty as well. He went into the kitchen and opened the oven door. Like all full moons, it was set on a low temperature, and the racks were removed, and left on the counter, but Chris wasn’t inside. 

 Peter closed the door with a hollow clang and went toward the living room where he could hear Stiles playing something, it was loud, shooting, and loud revving engines. SOmetimes Peter thought he could be eighty instead of twenty-three. 

 “Where’s Chris?” Peter asked. 

 “What?” Stiles asked, a green sour straw hanging from his mouth. 

 “Turn it down and maybe you could hear me.” 

 Stiles rolled his eyes and turned down the TV. His tie was still loose around his neck, his shirt beneath it had a few buttons undid. 

 “What?” 

 “Where is Chris?” 

 “I think he’s in the closet,” Stiles said. 

 Peter groaned. “God in heaven.” 

 “Yeah. He’s really pissy.” 

 “Is he molting?” 

 “Yep.”  

 “Fantastic.” 

 “Don’t get set on fire,” Stiles said as Peter started to climb the stairs. 

 “Have the extinguisher ready,” Peter said. 

 “Just run water in the tub. I don’t really want to go upstairs,” Stiles said. 

 “You’re so helpful,” Peter called down the stairs. 

 “It’s not going to help anyone if we’re both doing the stop, drop, and roll,” Stiles yelled. 

 Peter barely heard him as he went into the bedroom. The lights were off, the blinds and curtains were drawn against the moonlight that was nearly as bright as day to his own eyes and Chris’s. The only light was artificial and warmer, coming from the bathroom. It shone on the mattress and blankets that were molded into a wrinkled hill like someone had tried to burrow in them, then gotten irritated that they couldn’t and kicked it to disarray. Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious what had been done if Peter hadn’t seen Chris do exactly that on so many full moons he’d lost track. 

 “Chris?” he called. 

 A low rumble came from the closet. 

 “Shit,” Peter said under his breath before he went to the closet and pulled the door open. “Come down. I’ll run the tub and help the process along.” 

 The growling turned to a hiss that made the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. Growing up in a house with two alpha wolves, his sister and his mother, he had heard growling. It was all so very different from Chris’s. Theirs had sounded angry, but natural. Nothing about Chris’s sounded natural. It was unsettling. If Peter had his hackles they would be rising. When he was on four legs, it always made him want to run. 

 In the back corner of the closet, Chris’s thick tail was hanging from the heavily reinforced upper shelf. The rest of his large body was hidden under a small mountain range of clothing. That morning they had been folded and neat. Now Stiles and his clothes were mixed together on the thick metal shelf. He saw a shirt he had worn yesterday and Stiles’s underwear from the night before. He knew for a fact those had been in the hamper. 

 “Why do you always hide in underwear?” Peter asked, standing beneath the wide shelf and touching Chris’s tail. 

 Chris hissed louder, the noise vibrating in the back of his throat, and jerked his tail away, curling it up around himself on the shelf. Flakes of his scales floated to the carpet. 

 “Chris, come here,” Peter said. 

 The clothing moved and one of his clawed feet dug into the metal of his roost as he pushed away. A sock fell over the edge. Peter did not keep his socks in the closet. He knew if he smelled it, it would be far from clean. 

 “You nasty bastard,,” Peter said before he stood on the balls of his feet and grabbed Chris around his middle. His weight coming down against Peter nearly knocked him off his feet. If he was human, it would have. If his back hadn’t met one of the closet walls, he probably still would’ve hit the floor with Chris’s massive weight against his torso. The sound that came out of him vibrated Peter’s core. His wings flapped, hitting the light fixture and the door as he snarled, trying to shake off the clothing, his head and long neck flailing. Peter clutched him to his chest to limit his range of motion and hurried to the bathroom, trying not to send them both to the ground by tripping on Chris’s tail. “If you bite me I swear to God I will drown you. I’m not the one who decided it was a good idea to eat so much on vacation. That was you and your boyfriend.” 

 Peter dumped him into the tub, his large body smacking the porcelin hard enough to daze him. It gave him enough time to turn on the water. As it warmed, Peter grabbed socks, underwear, and shirts from the water, avoiding Chris’s teeth as he seethed,  his mass taking up the majority of the tub, his wings overhanging the edges, and grazing the warmed floor. 

 “Stay. You know you like the water. Quit it,” Peter said. “You brat! Do not bite me,” he said, pulling the last sock from Chris’s head. 

 Chris opened his mouth and hissed. The vanity lighting shone through the thin membrane of his wings as he flared them, making the navy nearly purple. 

 “Try me,” Peter said, staring into his blue eyes. The water continued to run and Chris continued to hiss at him with his mouth open his large canine like teeth showing. Peter didn’t look away as the water level rose before Chris laid down and let his head rest on the edge of the tub turned away from him. Peter exhaled and tested the water again, making sure it wasn’t too cold. Steam rose from the tap. “You’re the biggest bitch, I swear.” 

 Chris chuffed. He adjusted his body, making the water slosh, already dangerously close to the edge. 

 Then he heard the bedroom door open and the squeak of the floor before Stiles was in the doorway. 

 “What are you doing to him? I could hear it downstairs.” 

 “The question is what is he doing to me,” Peter said. 

 “Well yeah, but that would be rude, because he’s not a happy camper,” Stiles said slipping into his sappy voice as he sat on the edge of the bathtub. 

 He brushed his fingers over Chris’s patchy back scales and Chris raised his scaly lip, but didn’t move to bite like he would’ve done not a minute before. He was normally a pale gray on his sides that led up to a dark ridge on his spine. With the peeling scales, he looked white and lumpy. It looked painful. Still, Peter would enjoy keeping all of his fingers intact and when Chris was shedding he didn’t care in the slightest who he bit or how hard when he was pulled from one of his hiding spots. 

Peter dipped his hand in the water and poured a palmful on Chris’s wide head. Chris’s sides puffed, pressing against the tub, making the water level rise, but he didn’t try to bite as Peter started to massage the flaky scales on his brow. He took another palmful before doing the same, working at the small edges until they started to give easily. Chris watched him with slitted pupils. 

 “This is better than hiding in the closet, isn’t it?” Peter asked, cupping more water on Chris’s face. 

 He felt Chris’s breath against his fingers. He tried to swish his tail, but there was no room. It barely twitched where it was trapped between his body and the porcelain. . 

 “You’re a cranky old man,” Stiles said in entirely too fond of a voice as he rubbed his thumb over a large flake of back scales. 

 “It’s your fault. I told both of you he needed to slow down on the sweets. You told me I was being mean.” 

 “I didn’t know it would make him shed sooner.” 

 “I told you it would,” Peter said. 

 “It was France. I don’t know what you expected me to do. You weren’t going to eat bread with me until we got bloated.” 

 “No, because I know that I don’t need to stuff my face after I’m already full.” 

 “Eating just to get full? Come on. Live a little,” Stiles said. “The raspberry macaroons were totally worth it.” Then Stiles groaned. “I need more. Do you think they ship?” 

 Peter stared at him until Stiles looked up at him. “You aren’t going to bring those in this house unless you’re willing to be the one to get him out of the closet or from under the bed next time this happens.” 

 “That’s not even fair. I can’t physically pick him up.” 

“Exactly.” 

 “Fine,” Stiles said, frowning. “Sour puss.” 

 “I didn’t see you racing up the stairs to even help me get him in the tub,” Peter said. 

 “Fuck no. His teeth hurt.” 

 Peter shook his head and kept rubbing at the pieces of skin that would come off easily. The dark gray of the scales beneath were so vibrant they were nearly reflective. Chris was still growling constantly, his throat and chest vibrating the floor when Peter was still enough to feel it. As they used the handheld water jet, larger and larger pieces came free, but it was slow work. Slow and careful to keep from causing Chris any more discomfort than he was already in. 

 By the time Stiles pulled the drain and Peter lifted Chris out like an overgrown dog, most of his old skin was gone. There were still patches of dull white on his belly and some on his legs, and tail, but for the most part he looked like his normal self. 

 When Peter set him down, Chris flapped his wing and shook like a dog, water splattering all the surfaces in the bathroom. 

 “Jesus. So fucking rude,” Stiles said before getting a towel and patting Chris’s tender new scales. 

 Peter took another towel and started to pat his face. He could see his own face reflected upside down in Chris’s large eyes. 

 “I know it’s terrible, but you look beautiful,” Peter said. 

 The noise that Chris made made Stiles smile. It made Peter smile too as he kept drying him then softly rubbed beneath his chin, near the hollow of Chris’s throat how he loved. 

 “You’re the most beautiful dragon in the world.” 

 Chris hummed more loudly his eyes closing. 

 “So vain,” Stiles said, but he was still smiling. 

 "You would be too if you were so majestic,” Peter said. 

 Stiles snorted. “I guess.” 

 Peter dried the floor before tossing the towels in the laundry basket. Stiles went into the bedroom and Chris followed along behind him with his bow-legged gait, his shoulders nearly at Stiles’s hips. Peter heard the beep of Stiles turning on Chris’s warming pad before he heard the thump of Chris jumping on the mattress. When he came out, Stiles was laying on the edge of the mattress with his phone in one hand, and petting Chris where he was curled up in the center of the bed with his other. Chris’s eyes were already closed and his large head was laying on his huge clawed front feet. 

 Peter laid down on his side facing Stiles and facing Chris. Chris rolled over and pressed his raw back against Peter’s chest. Peter put his arm around him, being careful to keep it as still as possible as he petted Chris’s unnaturally hot chest. Chris hummed against him, making his own eyes drag. 

 “Sorry I convinced you to eat cookies,” Stiles said, kissing Chris’s head. 

 Chris flicked out his long tongue. Smoke drifted from his nostrils. 

 “Those are really conflicting messages,” Stiles said. 

 “He’ll burn off your eyebrows if you pick right now.” 

 “You’re no fun when you shed,” Stiles said. 

 Chris growled louder before he snaked his head beneath Stiles hand and he shifted until Stiles started to pet him. Then he started to hum again. One of his wings laid warm and heavy over Peter’s forearm and over most of Stiles’s legs. Peter felt himself starting to fall asleep with Chris’s scales against his front and his low growling falling to a background drone.


End file.
